Blackwater - By Conn Iggulden Page 0,6

party. He wasn’t enormous, like those bouncers you see on club doorways. Denis had found himself a solid, six-foot boxer without a single moral to trouble his conscience. I even chatted to Michael that first evening, and I think I should have had some sort of warning, some instinct. Life would be a lot easier if we felt a shiver down the spine when we met a man who will be punching us unconscious a month later.

I realize now that he stopped me at the bar because Denis was talking to Carol. Just one man on the payroll makes that sort of thing easy. Just a quick word and the husband loses almost an hour in strained small talk with a complete stranger. I even had a tray full of drinks, but every time I started to go back Michael dropped one of his hands onto my arm and made some comment, or joke, or asked me some inane question. I remember he said he had put on a bit of weight over the winter, but come spring, when he was ‘in season’, he would turn it back into muscle. I’d never heard anyone describe themselves that way before. It wasn’t exactly politeness that kept me there, it was a prickling fear that he was drunk and he was violent and I didn’t want to offend him. I stood it as long as I could, and when he turned away at last to pick up his change from the barman, I walked back to the table.

Carol wasn’t there and neither was Denis. It’s so easy now to understand what had happened, but at the time I just didn’t. Midnight was coming and I had the drinks in. I sipped one pint to the dregs and then started on another when she was suddenly back at the table and Denis was there too, kissing his wife just as the countdown started. You wouldn’t think I could miss something like that, knowing what I did, but I’ve stopped that sort of paranoia. It eats you alive, especially if you’re right every now and then. You really can’t watch them all the time. It destroys your nerves, your stomach and maybe your sanity.

Carol did look a little flushed, I remember. I put it down to alcohol and excitement. Balloons came down from the ceiling and everybody joined hands with strangers and sang that Scottish song where you only know one line and everyone repeats it over and over. There was a man in a kilt there and I remember smiling when I saw him and turning to Carol to see if she’d noticed. She smiled back at me and everything was all right.

The thing that really makes me bitter is that poor old Denis didn’t know the woman he was dealing with. If he’d gone hard at her like he did at his business acquaintances, he’d have had her skirt up after a meal or two. The trouble with Carol is that she looks the complete opposite. If you can imagine a Grace Kelly with dark hair, it isn’t her at all, but the attitude, the long neck and pale skin, that’s the same. She’s the sort of woman you want to muss a little, to see a tendril of hair come loose and a wicked gleam come into her eyes. You know the type? She’s the sort of woman you want to gasp when you kiss her. I worked hard at it when we were young together. She was a little drunk that first time with me. It wasn’t the way I’d pictured it. I could hardly see her in the dark room back at the student halls. Her thighs were long and white and they made a whispering sound as I ran my hand down them. I remember that she cradled my head against her, almost like holding a child. I think one of us cried, but we were drunk and young and it was a long time ago and two different people.

Denis thought he had found the great love of his life, of course.

Carol sells houses to people with too much money, the sort of people who surround themselves with gold-framed pictures and match the colour to their bath taps. Denis wouldn’t have looked out of place on her client list, even if he’d brought Michael as a driver. I heard his name when a girl from Carol’s office left a message about taking ‘Mr Tanter’ to another viewing. I